


Wherever You're Going I'm Going Your Way

by Pixietails



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Breakfast at Tiffany's AU, M/M, because why not?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-13 14:57:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9128992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixietails/pseuds/Pixietails
Summary: Moving to Shinjuku to begin his writing career felt like a brand new beginning--the first step toward creating a better life.  But Shizuo had never anticipated that one of his new neighbors would end up turning his life completely upside down.AU based on the novella (and bits of the movie) Breakfast at Tiffany's by Truman Capote.





	1. I

     I’ve found myself living in a number of places over the years; I could count _seven_ in the last year alone.  Each and every apartment, rented room, borrowed sofa--they’ve left their own, unique impression on me.  But nothing felt more like home than the little apartment I took in Shinjuku a couple years back.  Oh, it was nothing special; a pale, almost powder blue-colored room with enough space to eat, sleep, and write with a single window overlooking the fire escape.  The bathroom had abysmal water pressure, with a small, curtain-lined shower, and the kitchenette had something vaguely resembling a stove.  It obviously wasn’t the apartment’s features that had me so interested.  

     You see, it was my first apartment.  The first living space I could, without a shadow of a doubt, claim as my _own_.  Until then I had been sharing a small house with my brother, and while I would have been more than willing to keep such an arrangement, it was time for us both to strike out on our own.  Kasuka was thriving; he had his own life rapidly unfolding in front of him.  

     I was in the way.

     Moving out of my family home was a big step for me, and not one I had been entirely ready to take.  I grew up in Ikebukuro, and my intentions had been to _stay_ in the city I knew and loved.  But the four-apartment complex near Golden Gai in East Shinjuku had been so affordable that I couldn’t exactly say no.  Besides, didn’t writers need a little worldly experience?  It wasn’t far from home, but it was a step in the right direction.  A step toward making my life my own. 

     And that’s where I met _him_.

     I hadn’t considered writing about Izaya--at least not until Tom-san called me out of the blue one rainy afternoon in October.  For some time I had tried to forget about that period of my life, as though I could scrub away all of the bad memories if I worked hard enough.  But that single phone call brought everything bubbling back to the surface, and with it the need to put pen to paper--well, something like that, anyway.

     Orihara Izaya had been a tenant on the second floor of the apartment building, and a complicated part of my past.  As for Tanaka Tom, well--he ran a bar just around the corner from where we both had lived.  Izaya would wander in from time-to-time, but I found myself spending good chunks of time there.  Tom-san had a strange calming effect on me; whenever I would get riled up, it was as though he knew exactly what to say to keep my anger from overtaking me.  It’s because of him that I feel as though I’ve managed any sort of success, so hearing from him unexpectedly was a comfort in itself.

     When Izaya’s name came up, however, it felt as though the ground beneath my feet suddenly began to break away.  My stomach leapt into my throat, and for a full second I couldn’t breath.  I felt dizzy, like the room was spinning and there was nothing I could grab onto in order to steady myself.  I felt as though I were falling from a great height--there was really no other explanation for it.  I’m not really the best with words, even as a writer, but I do try.  At any rate, it was safe to say that I was more than just shocked.

     I was _excited._

     “Did you hear from him?” I asked.  Izaya had left no address, and his phone number had been abandoned before he had even left, so to hear word of him would be nothing short of a miracle.

     “I think you’d better come on by, Shizuo.  Trust me on this.”

     Without a second thought I hung up and hurried out into the pouring rain to hail a cab.  The entire trip had me lost in my own memories, but I couldn’t focus on any single one.  How could I?  I was too worked up.  Excited, anxious, maybe even _hopeful_ \--would there be news?  Would he actually _be_ there?  My heart stuttered at the idea, and for several moments it felt as though I wouldn’t be able to catch my breath.  I was working myself up into a frenzied mess, and I just needed to calm down.

     When the cab finally arrived I quickly paid the driver (I didn’t even bother to count my money; I just handed him whatever I had in my pocket) and stopped just outside the front door.  Despite my rush, it suddenly felt as though I couldn’t move.  I didn’t know what I was about to find on the other side of that door, except a bar I had visited almost every damn day of my life.  It was the middle of the day, and I fully expected it to be empty except for the sight of Tom-san’s familiar face.

     But I sure could hope.

     I waited.  My nerves were a tangled mess, and I felt like they were about to fray if I did anything too hasty.  So I lit a cigarette, took a long drag, and told myself on loop that Izaya definitely wasn’t inside.  After all, it wasn’t like I was hard to find; I had moved back to Ikebukuro, but hardly in secret.  No; if Izaya couldn’t bother to call me himself, he definitely wasn’t going to be sitting at the bar waiting for me.

     Finally I found the strength to open the door, and in spite of everything I had told myself I couldn’t fight off my disappointment.  The bar was empty, chairs still overturned and set on top of the tables from last night’s closing.  Even the music was off, which I found odd.  But I didn’t comment on it, and instead took one of the only available seats at the bar.  

     As I sat there and attempted to dislodge the sudden lump in my throat, Tom-san wandered over, fixing me with an almost pitying sort of look.  From anyone else I might have taken offense, but somehow it felt familial, like a concerned father attempting to break bad news to his son.  What could be so important that it had to be spoken in person?  It _was_ about Izaya; I could feel it in my bones.  

     So why all the drama?

     “I thought it would be better to tell you this kinda stuff in person, Shizuo.”  

     Instantly my heart sank.  Thousands of hazy questions popped into my head, but not even one of them managed to make it past its primary stage.  Maybe I was afraid to ask; even now I don’t really know what it was I felt.  Fear, anxiety--something like that, probably.  Every dark thought that had occurred to me over the years was suddenly burrowing deep into my heart, and for a moment I thought my chest would actually explode.  If the news was bad, worse than even I had expected, what would I do?

     More importantly: what _could_ I do?

     After what felt like an eternity I managed to force out a somewhat coherent sentence, the words feeling clumsy and somehow wrong on my unusually thick tongue.  I needed a drink, but alcohol wasn’t right for me, not in the middle of the day.  Without even asking, Tom-san seemed to sense my dilemma and poured me a small glass of water, which curiously worked wonders.  I could breathe again, and by extension speak.

     “What happened?  Izaya, did he...is he dead?”

     To my surprise Tom-san gave a laugh and shook his head, and instantly a good deal of my concern melted away.  I must have looked pretty pathetic worrying about a guy who wasn’t worrying about me in return, but I was hardly the only person in the world Orihara Izaya had touched.  He might have been a major pain in the ass, and I’m sure plenty of people (besides myself) wanted to punch the _shit_ out of him, but he had left an unerasable mark on us all.  Tom-san included.

     “Do you think I’d be this casual if he had?  No, Shizuo; as far as I can tell, he’s still alive.  But that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.  Do you remember Yagiri Seiji-kun?”

     “Yeah, sure.  Remember his sister better, though.  She never liked me.”  Yagiri Namie and her younger brother Seiji had lived just upstairs, one floor above me and two above Izaya.  Neither of them were very  friendly people, and because of that we had largely ignored them.  “You didn’t call me down here just to talk about him, did you?”

     “Hold on, just let me get to it.  Do you remember that he moved out around the same time you did?  Well he’s back in Japan.  He came in here last night, filled me in on everything that’s been going on in his life over the last couple of years.”

     This kind of news was hardly anything surprising; that Seiji kid might have been quiet and a little weird, but Tom-san had a strange ability to get people to warm up to him.  Everyone in the old apartment complex had known him, and had, on several occasions, found themselves involved in lengthy conversations with the man.  He was a good guy, even if you were just looking for someone to vent to.

     “So?”

     “So,” Tom continued, “after saving up enough money, Seiji-kun moved to Ireland in search of that girl he’d been so crazy about.  I think he said he spent about a year there...uh...well, that’s not what’s important.  What _is_ important is that he didn’t stay there.  He went all around the UK, the States, and a few other pretty interesting places.  And then he showed me _this_.”

     Clearly he had been waiting for this moment, because when Tom-san set his phone down in front of me a picture was already enlarged, zoomed in just enough for me to see a small group of blurry figures lurking in the background.  Most people would have found themselves squinting at it in confusion--and with good reason, given the terrible quality. But not me.  I recognized the figure in the middle, would have been able to even without that stupid coat he’d been so fond of.  Without a doubt, I was looking at a very recent photo of Izaya.

     “Seiji-kun said he saw him in a small village in China.  Said he was _certain_ that it was Izaya, but by the time he made it to the bridge to cross over the river, he was gone.  I guess he spent about an hour asking around, but the locals didn’t really take too kindly to someone who didn’t understand their dialect.  One of the villagers managed to speak enough broken Mandarin to explain that the ‘foreigner’ was likely just passing through.  But I mean...that’s him, isn’t it?”

     Of course it was.  There was no way it couldn’t be Izaya; that lean frame, the damned fur coat--even the way he held himself.  All three of us had been able to recognize him from a distance, and yet I sat there, glaring down at the screen, determined not to accept what I was seeing.  Why the hell would he be in China, anyway?

     “No.  No, I don’t think so.”  And for a moment I really believed it.  I’d lied to myself for so long already, trying to convince myself that Izaya was happy--that _I_ was happy.  It didn’t make any sense to me that Izaya would be in some small, remote village.  But at the same time I could understand why he might actually find it interesting: I could see him there, removed from everything and finally just _relaxing_.  Content.  Not afraid in the slightest.

     “You’re joking?”  Tom-san’s voice was just as incredulous as his expression, and had I been in a better mood I might have actually laughed.  But as it was, it took every ounce of my self-control not to hurl the damn phone across the room.  

     “It’s not like him.  And even if it _is_ him, it doesn’t matter, right?  He doesn’t live there or anything; like they said, he’s just passing through.  He’s gone.  Just...just gone.”

     Heavy silence fell over us, my anger quickly subsiding into something I had grown very familiar with.  The hollow emptiness steadily crept through my body, weighing down my limbs until I felt paralyzed; _frozen_.  Thin, icy fingers clutched insistently at my chest as though to steal away each and every breath, and I wished suddenly that I had just been left in the dark.  What had I been expecting?  I was an idiot to think there was a happy ending in this, that I would somehow walk away as the protagonist of some love story.  I wasn’t that kind of writer, and incidentally I wasn’t that kind of person.

     Never would be.

     “Yeah.  Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

     With a heavy sigh I pushed away from the bar and stubbed out my cigarette in the sole ashtray Tom-san kept for me.  Part of me felt as though I should be doing more about locating Izaya, but I knew that even with the right resources it would be a waste of time.  I wasn’t wanted, that much had been made clear a long time ago.  This was just something I was going to have to accept.

     Eventually I knew I would be grateful for the information.  Just knowing that Izaya was alive was enough to keep me going, and as I said my goodbyes I began to wonder if Izaya might actually be genuinely happy with a life of travel.  He might have ended up rich, cheerfully jetting off to whatever country he felt like on a whim.  If that were the case then I could accept it, and the longer I thought about it the better I felt.  Gradually the weight on my chest lifted and the stinging cold that had invaded my bones slowly but surely faded away.  Even the chilly afternoon drizzle didn’t seem to slow me down, and before I knew it I found that I had wandered all the way back to the same place I had lived in only two years prior.

     Time had barely touched the neighborhood, although it looked somehow less colorful than it had in the past.  When I first moved in everything had felt so vivid and bright; so full of hope for the future.  Now, however, it seemed bleak and gray--an effect that even the shining sun wouldn’t have been able to fix.  I felt uncomfortably out of place, as though I was no longer welcome there.  Except for Namie-san (who apparently had no intention of ever moving out), the names on the mailboxes were all foreign to me, and I felt a strange pang of sadness at that fact.   

     It was because of those mailboxes that I had first become aware of Orihara Izaya.


	2. II

    There was no big welcoming party when I moved in, which suited me just fine.  If I was going to write I was going to need to be left alone.  Even though there was a distinct lack of warm greetings, the other tenants had at least made an effort to get to know me—all except for one.  Since I wasn’t making an effort to be friends with each and every neighbor I pushed it out of my mind, but after about a week I happened to notice the name slot in the mailbox for Apt. 2 had a strange card.  Rather than write in his own name, the owner of the apartment had slipped in a printed business card which read: _Orihara Izaya_ ; and underneath that, in an stupidly flowery font, _Traveling_.  It didn’t make sense.  It _irritated_ me.  But despite my confusion I couldn’t stop thinking about it.  The phrase stuck in my mind, repeating itself over and over.

     _Orihara Izaya, Traveling._

    A couple of days passed after my discovery, and the name still floated through my memory whenever I had a spare minute to myself.  I attempted to keep myself busy, my evenings dragging on later and later still.  After a long night of writing I finally allowed myself to go to bed; if I didn’t rest, my work would start to suffer, and considering my difficulties being published I definitely couldn’t afford that.  I had only just fallen asleep when my upstairs neighbor began shouting, her furious voice loud enough to wake the rest of the house, if not the entire street.  Since I wasn’t going to be able to sleep with all the noise, I reluctantly went to see what the hell was going on—and to tell the woman to shut up if need be.

    “I told you to get a key made!  You can’t keep buzzing my apartment in the middle of the night, my brother needs his sleep!”

    “Ah, Namie-san!  I’m sorry, but I just keep losing them!”

    “It’s three in the goddamn morning, Izaya!”

    “Is it?  Then you really shouldn’t be yelling so loudly!”

    Though I couldn’t see her, I could practically _hear_ the look on Namie-san’s face as she called back.  “You’re the one causing trouble while the rest of us try to sleep.  We’re busy people, we have work!  I’m not your servant who just sits idly by, waiting to do your bidding!”

    The downstairs voice grew closer, cheerful and somehow still full of energy even at such late hour.  “Don’t be so angry!  I promise not to do it again.”  The scoff from upstairs told me such a line had been heard before.  “Don’t you believe me?”

    “Of course not,” came the reply.

    By now my curiosity was greater than my irritation, so I crept closer to the banister in the hopes of putting a face to the name that had been haunting me for the past several days.  I thought that if I at least knew what the guy looked like, I could stop thinking about him and actually focus on my work.

    The first thing I noticed was that despite his youthful voice, Orihara Izaya didn’t seem like a man who put much stock into what was considered trendy.  His dark hair was fashionable enough in style, but untouched from dyes and bleach, unlike mine.  The long coat he wore was lined with fur—an odd choice, seeing as how summer was rapidly approaching.  A young man wearing such dark colors might have looked dreary, but somehow Izaya didn’t look depressing or out of place.  On the contrary; his fashion choices made him appear sophisticated and confident.

    From my angle and the lack of decent lighting, I found it difficult to tell just how old he was.  Surely out of his teens, but perhaps even younger than myself—I would have put him anywhere between twenty to thirty years old.  Even in the dim glow of the stairway his eyes seemed to sparkle, and the cheerful smile on his lips only served to make him look more childish.  The faint scent of flowers floated gently upward as he climbed the stairs, and as I committed his face to memory I realized something unsettling.

   The little bastard was _pretty_.

   Disgust flooded through me, and I quickly withdrew from the banister in confusion.  Just how tired was I that I found another man not only physically attractive, but to classify him as _pretty_?  Up until that point I hadn’t given relationships much thought; an anger issue that had followed me from my childhood kept most people at a distance.  Normally it didn’t bother me, but whenever I seriously began to think about my future, I always pictured myself with a nice girl.

    Not that I was picturing myself with Izaya, or anything like that.

   I was overtired and stretched too thin: I just needed to go back to bed and actually rest.  But before I could even move back to my apartment, another voice called out from down below, drawing my attention once again.  As I peeked over the railing, I noticed another figure—this one definitely younger than Izaya—hurry up the stairs.  Didn’t anyone have any concern for people trying to sleep?

    As I watched, it occurred to me how very odd it was for such a young kid to be chasing after Izaya.  The boy couldn’t have been more than sixteen, and that was being generous.  In the daylight it would have been weird, but nothing for me to worry about.  At three in the morning, however, it went beyond just strange, and I found myself unable to look away.

    When he reached his door, Izaya slipped a hand into his pocket, carefully avoiding looking back at the boy who had so desperately called his name.  He pulled out a small key ring from his pocket, and although he had claimed to have lost his downstairs key, I distinctly noticed he carried two different keys with him.  It left me wondering if he had bothered Namie-san on purpose, and given what I knew about him already it seemed a distinct possibility.

    Finally Izaya unlocked his door, and it was only then that he appeared to notice that he wasn’t alone.  “It was nice of you to walk with me, but really—shouldn’t I have been the one to see you back home?  You shouldn’t stay out too late; it’s _dangerous_ for someone like you.  Go straight home and get some rest.  It’s past your bedtime!”

    “Orihara-san, wait!  Don’t close the door, I need your help!”

    “Hm?  What else do you need, Ryuugamine-kun?”

    “What?”  The boy looked bewildered, acting as though he had heard something very strange.  “Ryuugamine—?  Mikado’s my _friend_.  I’m Kida Masaomi—you remember that much, don’t you?”

    “Oh, of course.  My apologies, Kida-kun.  Now good night.”

    This time the door closed, leaving the boy—Kida—looking both hurt and upset.  There was a moment in which I thought he might honestly cry, but anger won out in the end.  With as much strength as his thin body could muster, he kicked the door and stormed back downstairs in what I could only describe as a full-blown pout.  Hell, if I hadn’t been so tired I might have told him to suck it up, but before the thought could even fully form in my mind, Izaya’s door opened once more.

     “Before I forget, Kida-kun…”

     Looking hopeful, Kida turned his face upward, a smile of relief softening his features.  Izaya must have been joking all along; there was no way he could turn away someone who needed his help. 

    “When someone asks to be compensated for their hard work, don’t hand them five-hundred yen.  It’s insulting!”                                                      

* * *

 

    Perhaps Izaya took pity on Namie-san, because the next evening my bell began to ring.  At first I was confused, thinking that Kasuka must have decided to come visit—that something must be wrong.  Naturally I was quick to leap out of bed and press the button that opened the downstairs door, only to rush to the landing in time for Izaya to call up a cheerful, laughter-filled thank you.  There was nothing sincere about it, and as pissed as I felt I decided it wasn’t worth the fight.  He was a shitty little brat, but I was exhausted.  I’d just tell him off next time it happened.

    Except I didn’t.  It became almost routine for me; the buzzer would go off, I’d get up and push the button, and drop back into bed as though nothing had happened.  I made no effort to get to know Izaya, nor did he bother to get to know me.  Sure we’d pass each other on the stairs from time-to-time, but he always seemed not to see me, as though there were something much more important just beyond me.  

    It didn’t bother me.  Nor did it bother me when I caught sight of him taking in the city on several occasions.  After a particularly successful session of writing, I decided to treat myself to something nice, and asked around for a decent restaurant in the area.  When I walked in, a familiar voice floated above the boisterous crowd, drawing my attention to a table near the back.  Izaya was there, surrounded by men who looked particularly important; the types of guys who wore fitted suits with expensive watches.  I told myself there was nothing weird about that, that they were likely businessmen and nothing else, but for some reason it killed my appetite.  I decided I’d try dining at that place another night and just left.

    There was another night, while I was out for a restless walk, that I saw him.  I was about six or so blocks from my apartment when a shop display caught my attention.  There was an antique typewriter sitting in the window, a really nice machine that would have made my writing a lot easier.  I couldn’t stand computers and all the shit that came with them—they were just too damn complicated.  Even after learning the keyboard I had trouble with them, but when I checked the price of the thing I almost couldn’t believe it.  Forty thousand for something that old?  Who would even pay that?  It was with a heavy heart that I tore myself away, and it was then that I spotted Izaya in the distance.

    He wasn’t alone, and considering how dark it was I shouldn’t have even recognized him, but the neon glow of the city illuminated his figure enough.  I had quickly picked up on the way he moved, and the clothes that he wore were so familiar that anyone who knew him would have been able to pick him out of a crowd.  But what concerned me was that he was among new company and not with anyone I’d seen at the restaurant a few days before.  I wanted to think he was just likable, and that he often traveled in groups of friends, but I knew how annoying he was, and so I figured something shady had to be going on.

    At any rate, Izaya remained blissfully unaware of my existence—unless, of course, he needed me to open the door for him early in the morning.  We were neighbors, nothing more, and I should have accepted that just fine.  Only it bothered me every time I started to think about him.  Whenever his face popped into my thoughts I found myself getting angry, and when I was angry I couldn’t write.  If I couldn’t write, I was going to find myself out on the street, and I wasn’t about to let that happen.  So to satisfy my morbid curiosity, I made an effort to learn more about Izaya.

    I learned that despite his high number of acquaintances ( _and_ multiple cell phones) he didn’t often receive single visitors.  No one called themselves his friend and dropped in for a chat.  Large numbers of people _did_ show up for parties, though: loud affairs with music, dancing and what I assumed to be limitless alcohol, and more than once I had been on my way downstairs to start yelling when Namie-san’s voice came booming from above.  

    Izaya also received packages on a regular basis, and judging from the garbage he apparently managed to live off of a diet of fatty tuna from the takeout restaurant around the corner.  He also had a tendency to shred every bit of mail he received.  The trash bin outside his door was always full of small strips of paper, and I’ll admit I was curious enough to try and read a few of them once or twice.  There was nothing interesting, and I don’t know what I was actually expecting.  No one sent paper mail anymore anyway.

   I also discovered that he owned a cat, and that he could sing.  On gray, drippy mornings when there was nothing to do he would (along with the sleek, black cat) sit just outside the window and watch the rain fall.  But it wasn’t the melody of the rain pattering against the metal fire escape that caught my attention; it was the voice that so often accompanied it.  Deceptively soft, with an almost lazy sort of quality, and yet pleasant to listen to all the same.  Sometimes he wound sing something even I knew, an annoying popular song I’d heard on TV or maybe even on the street.  But sometimes he picked songs that made me wonder if anyone had ever sang them before.  Slow and quiet, the type of music that made you feel at peace with the world, and I think these were the ones that he liked the best.  They suited his voice surprisingly well, and I would often just sit by my window, leisurely puf away on a cigarette, and hope that the rain would last just a little bit longer.

    But we didn’t _officially_ meet until September.  It was a cool night; the type of night that brought along with it the first crisp winds of autumn.  My writing hadn’t taken me very far, which frustrated me to no end, and finally I had decided to just give it up and get some actual rest.  I can’t say I went to bed _early_ , since it was just past two, but it was better than my usual schedule.  Unfortunately I hadn’t been lying in bed long when a sudden noise caught my attention.

    At first I thought I had to be imagining things; I lived on the third floor, and there was practically no way someone could be breaking in—at least not through the window.  And yet I distinctly heard it open, causing my heart to start beating wildly as I scrambled for the bedside lamp.  With a curse I knocked it over, and that’s when I heard a voice I’d grown familiar with in the last several weeks.

    “Do you always leave your window unlocked?  That’s not very _clever_ ; even on the third floor you should take precautions.”  He was in the room now, closing the window after him in an almost thoughtful manner.  Even in complete darkness I would have recognized Izaya, but there was enough ambient light from the city for me to make out his form with surprising clarity.  There was a smile on his face, one of genuine amusement, as though he were watching an exciting new TV show for the very first time.  But that was hardly what bothered me.

    Unlike before, he wasn’t dressed in any of his best clothes.  In fact, he was barely dressed at all.  A satin black robe was all he was wearing, and I could tell as much from the sight of his legs and the bit of bare skin peeking through the V shape of his neckline.  As repulsive as I found his appearance, I couldn’t stop staring—which might have been why he continued talking, hardly ever pausing for me to get a word in.

    “I hope you don’t mind,” he explained,” but I just had to get out.  The most _boring_ man is downstairs, and I might have gotten him to leave if he hadn’t helped himself to the beer in my fridge, and now that he’s drunk I don’t think he’ll be going anywhere for a while.  Ah—!  But don’t look at me like that; it’s nothing so scandalous.  Just a friend!  I was going to just go to bed, you know, but he was making such a fuss I left him to his own devices and just went out the window.  Only it’s _cold_ out there, and you looked so cozy in here that I thought I might as well _check_ , since it’s not like Namie-san would be stupid enough to leave the window unlocked.”

    “Hey—”

    “Oh, don’t look at me like that.  I know that look.  And it’s not because you think I must have insulted you.  You’re trying to figure me out, aren’t you?  I’d say you were angry, but you look more _bewildered_.  Or are you _intrigued_?”  He paused by the bed, watching me for a moment before giving a lighthearted sort of laugh.  “It reminds me of when I first met this weird guy I’m forced to call my friend.  Not many people have looked at me like that—you, and Shinra.  I really don’t like it, because it’s like you two can see _through_ me.  But I don’t actually think you can.  And as for Shinra, he’s off training in the military now, so you’re the only one left to give me that look.  How about it, hm?  Should I call you Shinra for now?”

    “What?”  Intelligent thought escaped me as I gawked at him, hardly able to follow his overflow of information.  “No!  Don’t call me something stupid.  My name’s Heiwajima Shizuo, you should know that by now and—”

    “I see.”  There was clear disappointment on his face now, and for some reason it made me feel guilty.  Why should I listen to him call me by some other guy’s name?  I shouldn’t feel bad about that.  But as he wandered around the room and finally dropped down into a rickety chair, I felt the need to try and mend things.  Just a bit.

    “It’s not like you’ve gotta be formal or anything, I mean…my first name’s all right.”

    My desk lamp switched on, and I realized he wasn’t even paying attention to me.  Anger flared up inside me, and for a brief moment I really considered throwing him out, but the smile that spread across his face gave me pause.  Once again he looked almost excited, and I just couldn’t bring myself to put a stop to that.

    “First name?  Hm...you’re so _serious_ , I don’t really think that will be enough.  No, no...I’ll think of it, don’t worry.”

    “Think of what?” I asked.

    “Of what to call you, of course.  But anyway, you’ve been living here for a while, right?  Are you used to it?  The apartment, the neighborhood?”

    I paused, considering his question.  Over the past several weeks I had taken to wandering around, venturing out a little farther each time.  Though I was no expert, I had learned the immediate area pretty well, and my small apartment had quickly begun to feel like home.

    “I guess,” I answered.

    “I’m not.  And I’ve lived here longer than you.  I don’t see how anyone can get used to one place.  What do you do anyway?  You know, for a living?”

    Did he ever stop?  The longer he talked the shorter my patience became.  “I write.  I’m a writer.”

    This revelation seemed to open up a new series of doors for Izaya, as I noticed him sit up straighter and look around the desk with renewed interest.  There were some scattered papers, but I did most of my writing on the cheap laptop my brother gave me.  Thankfully I had turned it off before going to bed, so when Izaya flipped it open, the screen was cold and dark.  Disappointment flashed across his features, but even that didn’t manage to slow him down for long.

    “What do you write?  Anything I would have read?  I don’t recognize your name.”

    “I, uh...I haven’t been published yet.”

    “Oh.”  

    After that he fell quiet for some time, and I felt my nerves begin to act up as he searched through the papers on my desk.  What did this nosy bastard even want?  It wasn’t up to me to keep him entertained, but at the same time I felt like I was the one doing something wrong for considering turning him out.  The longer I sat and tried to figure him out the worse I felt—until Izaya suddenly gave another laugh.

    “There’s that look again!”  A cheerfulness had returned to his voice once more, and I started to understand that it didn’t take much for him to switch back into his ‘default’ setting.  I wasn’t sure if he really was just happy, or good at faking it, but I decided I liked this side of him best.

    “Huh?”

    “You’re watching me and trying to understand what makes me work, right?  That look really _does_ remind me of Shinra.  He’s a terrible pervert and an even worse friend, but he was always curious.  Sometimes I don’t even think he saw me as a person, but he was someone to talk to.  I guess he wasn’t _so_ bad growing up, but then one day he met this foreigner from Ireland and fell instantly in love—or something like that, at least.  It was hardly a fairy tale, so I told him it was just an infatuation, and if he didn’t stop stalking her he was going to end up in trouble.  It was actually a little disappointing when she didn’t call the cops on him…”

    When he paused to reflect on the incident I noticed for the first time a hint of honesty on his face.  Not that I expected him to be lying most of the time, but there was something weirdly superficial about him—like he was putting on an act.  But as he sat there in my chair, legs curled up underneath him and looking thoughtful, he felt more real to me than ever before.  

    “If you can believe it,” he continued, “I think she might have actually liked him back.  They spent a lot of time together while she was in Japan, but it wasn’t ever going to be serious, you know.  How could it be when she wasn’t ever planning on staying?  But when she went home he just couldn’t stand it, and after about a year of back and forth correspondence he decided he _had_ to be with her.  Only the problem was he didn’t have the _money_.  So like all classic stories that end in heartbreak, he decided to join the army in the hopes that they would send him overseas.  There’s a war over there, if you haven’t been watching the news, so I guess it’s not the most ridiculous idea he’s ever had.  And with his medical training he’ll be desperately needed.  Now there’s a story you should write about.  Maybe you could even make it interesting.”

    Fascinating though it was, it wasn’t my type of story.  However it did make me want to share something in return.  I can’t say I’m exactly fond of talking about myself, but I’m not some secretive person either.  But since he had been so interested in my work I decided I’d let him hear some of the short story I’d been diligently working on.  No one else had read it, which meant it was significantly more intimate than telling him about my life.

    He watched with childlike curiosity as I climbed out of bed to retrieve the laptop.  The silence between us was oddly comfortable, and I didn’t even mind waiting for it to turn on.  Without explaining what I was doing I opened up the document and began to read, all the while trying to tell myself it wasn’t stupid to read a grown man a story just before bed.

    Reading aloud had never been something I was comfortable with, and I could hear just how self-conscious I was, but Izaya was listening so intently I couldn’t just stop.  Somewhere in the back of mind the word _cute_ popped up, and as ridiculous as it was I couldn’t just get the idea out of my head.  

    Eventually I came to the end, even though I hadn’t meant to read the entire thing out loud.  Since it was unfinished it wasn’t very long, and I had been so drawn in that I hadn’t even noticed how much time passed, or when I had reached page _ten_ of my word document.  Feeling pleased with myself and just a little excited I glanced up at Izaya to see his reaction—and I realized he didn’t look nearly as interested as he had before.

    “It’s not finished,” I explained, the words feeling stupid even as they came out of my mouth.  “I have a lot more I wanna write.”

    “Is the rest a decent story?” he asked.  I was too confused to even get angry, and maybe he sensed that because he kept talking.  “I mean you’re not a bad writer, but the plot was terrible!  I was about to fall asleep halfway through!”

    Heat rose into my cheeks as I understood his meaning, and through my embarrassment I fought the urge to physically throw him out.  My hands tightened around my laptop, and it was all I could do not to break the damn thing.  Just what did he know about good writing anyway?  There was nothing even wrong with my plot!

    “If you’re gonna sit there and complain you can just get the hell out then.  You’ve been nothin’ but a pain in the ass since I met you.”

   To my surprise Izaya laughed, which only make my irritation with him spike.  “I didn’t mean it in a bad way!  It’s just that Shizu-chan’s story starts to lag, and once that happens I just want to put the book down and watch something interesting on TV.”

    “ _Shizu-chan?_ ”

    “I told you before I’d figure out what to call you, right?  For someone who keeps pouting so much, I’d say Shizu-chan is perfect.”

    “All right, that’s it, I—”

    But before I could even finish my sentence, Izaya was on his feet and somehow at my bedside.  With a look that I could only describe as mild shock, he grabbed the alarm clock, bringing it close to his face as though he had somehow managed to misread it.

    “Is this clock right?  Is it really four-thirty already?  What day is today?”

    As usual I couldn’t follow his rapid line of thinking, and found myself lost.  I was so intrigued by him that I even forgot to be pissed off for a moment.

    “It’s Thursday,” I answered.

    “ _Thursday_.  Of course it’s Thursday.”  The news hit him hard, and he dropped the clock and plopped onto the bed beside me with a childish sort of frown.  “I must have lost track again.  How is it Thursday already?”

    “What’s so bad about it?”

   “Well, nothing really—I just forgot it was coming up.  I don’t usually go to bed Wednesday night since I have to get up early and catch the train to Fuchū.  You’d think visiting hours at a prison would be more accommodating, but they’re very strict, so I have to make sure I’m there on time.  Not only that, but I have to make sure I’m decently dressed and all of that.  I have an appearance to keep up, and I mean that literally.”

    Izaya continued to talk, drawing me back in and chasing away whatever bad will had filled my heart.  He drove me crazy, and it was becoming obvious to me that he was insensitive, brash and a real _prick_ , but I couldn’t help but want to hear more from him.  I would have done well to see him back home and be finished with him completely.

    I let him stay.

    “You know someone in prison then?”

    “You could say that.”  Perhaps I was broaching a sensitive topic; he didn’t seem ready volunteer anything more.  “You should sleep, Shizu-chan.  I don’t want to keep you awake all night!”

    The false cheer in his voice really rubbed me the wrong way.  Now that he wanted to leave, I inexplicably wanted him to stick around.  “You’re fine.  I wanna hear more.”

    “No, that won’t do.  If I keep talking I’ll definitely tell you about Shiki-san, and I’m not sure I’m supposed to do that.”

    I watched as his eyes slowly drifted upward, as though they were searching for some hidden knowledge tucked away in the deep recesses of his mind.  Whatever he was searching for must have been something difficult, since I could tell he really was trying to work out whether or not he should speak.  But what I found most interesting of all was that his tongue poked out absentmindedly when he found himself deep in thought.

    Why the hell did I keep thinking this guy was cute?

    “Ah, well—it’s not like _you_ know who he is, and he never said not to mention his name.  Even if you _did_ know his name I’m sure you’d have some idiotic idea about him buzzing around in that dense skull of yours.  There was a big report about his arrest a while back, something to do with yakuza ties, but none of it’s true.  Shiki Haruya is just a shrewd man with a keen sense of business.  I’ve talked to him dozens of times already, and he’s incredibly fascinating.  Too bad I didn’t have a chance to know him before his arrest.”  

    Though I hadn’t heard the name at the time, I would come to learn that Izaya wasn’t completely lying; Shiki Haruya’s yakuza connections _had_ given him a five year sentence.  The rest of the story was just so much bullshit, but the tone in his voice told me that I’d be better off keeping my mouth shut.  Izaya wasn’t a stupid man by any means, but lies rolled off his tongue so easily that they sounded even better than the absolute truth.

    “So how the hell’d you meet this guy anyway?” I asked.  “Do you just wander in, looking for prisoners to chat up?”

    “Do you want me to talk or _not_ , Shizu-chan?”

    “Don’t call me that.”

    “But it’s too late now.  Shizu-chan _is_ Shizu-chan.”

    “And I _said_ don’t fuckin’ call me that.”

    Izaya waved a dismissive hand, brushing off my anger.  “Well, to answer to your question: _no_ , I don’t go looking for prisoners.  Apparently he had noticed me around town, you know—same circle of friends, that kind of thing.  Just after he was sent to Fuchū I received a call from this guy calling himself Shiki-san’s lawyer.  It seemed suspicious and probably very dangerous, so I could hardly just refuse.  I agreed to meet him, only I think it was pretty obvious immediately that he wasn’t actually a lawyer.  He always wants to meet at the same restaurant in Sunshine 60, and he looks more like yakuza than even Shiki-san does.  But Akabayashi-san (that’s the man’s name; the would-be lawyer) isn’t yakuza, and neither is Shiki-san.  So don’t go around telling anyone they are, got it?”

    “You’re not serious?”

    “I _am_ serious.  Why?  Do you think I’m lying?”  The stupid smile on his ever stupider face was a pretty big indication that he was.  Was he telling me all this crap just because he was bored?  What kind of game was that?

    “I don’t get it.  None of this makes any sense.”  Maybe I was just too tired, but I could hardly follow his story at all.  Even for a lie it was a little too convoluted, and I was beginning to regret asking to hear more.

    “Well not yet, I haven’t even gotten to the good part.  The point of this all is that Shiki-san had heard a lot of nice things about me, and how I help people with their problems.  I don’t mind listening and lending a helping hand here and there, but I do expect my good deeds to be rewarded; I’m no _saint_.  I like giving people a bit of advice, but if you want my help with something it’s a bit rude to expect me to do it for free.  Anyway, Akabayashi-san asked if I wouldn’t consider visiting the prison once a week and provide a lonely man with a real, meaningful conversation for an hour.  Then I just go back home, drop off the news to the lawyer, and that’s it: twenty-thousand yen, deposited into my account.”

    “ _Twenty-thousand_ just to talk to this guy?  What the hell kind of news are you delivering?”

    “Oh, just normal things.  Stuff like there’s been an decrease in evening traffic, or gun crimes are mysteriously on the rise. It must be some kind of inside joke, because I really don’t understand any of it at all.”  Another lie; he was smiling again, like a little kid just dying to give away his secret.  I knew perfectly well he understood it all.  “It’s probably just some kind of code letting Akabayashi-san know I’ve been to the prison.”

    I seriously doubted it, but it was too late to argue.  The more input I gave, the more Izaya talked, and I was getting sick of trying to follow thirty different topics.  His voice wasn’t so bad to listen to, but when the sky outside was already starting to get light, it became kind of grating.  I was just about ready to tell him to go back home when he curled up beside me like some big, weird cat.

    “Do you mind if I lay here a minute, Shizu-chan?  I’m a little tired, and I just want to rest.  I won’t be long.  Just go to sleep, and I’ll be out of your hair before you know it.”

    Sleep suddenly eluded me.  Watching him get comfortable made my face feel warm again, and as tired as I had been I knew I couldn’t even think about closing my eyes.  Now that he was silent, I finally had the opportunity to really look at him.  It was different when he was beside me, eyes closed and more vulnerable than I’d ever seen him look.  He wasn’t the same man I passed on the stairs, or saw around town.  He wasn’t the lonely person sitting in my chair talking my ear off because he needed decent company.  Didn’t he ever get tired of keeping up appearances?

    Pale blue light began to filter in through the window before long, and I realized that I had effectively been awake all night.  The clock Izaya had been looking at already read six AM, and strangely that didn’t bother me.  I felt content—or at least I did until I felt a cold hand come to rest on my chest.  The owner of said hand seemed to still be asleep beside me, and so I figured he was just trying to get comfortable.  That much I could let slide, even if I couldn’t exactly ignore it.  And just maybe I didn’t completely _want_ to ignore it.

    “Mm…Shizu-chan is warm...”

    “—Huh?”

    Was he dreaming?  I thought he must have been, and I can say with a certain amount of humiliation that it was a little flattering to have someone dream about you.  Kind of freaky too, if I was going to be honest.  We’d known each other for a grand total of four hours, and already I was starring in his dreams?  I couldn’t figure out if I should wake him up or wait and see if he said anything else, and so I awkwardly put an arm around him in what I imagined was a comforting gesture.  Never was any good with that kind of thing.

    “So strong…!  I didn’t realize Shizu-chan thought so highly of me.  Maybe he’s a pervert too?”

    A jolt of surprise shocked me out of my thoughts and when I looked down at Izaya I could see the little bastard smirking.  His eyes were still closed, but that stupid grin told me everything I needed to know.  I don’t know how long he had been awake, but I knew he was fucking around with me, and it both infuriated and embarrassed me.  Without thinking I jerked my arm away and gave him a good, hard shove which knocked him to the floor with an annoyingly cheerful laugh.  

     “Get out!  Go the fuck home, idiot!”

    It was harsh, but I was pissed; Izaya didn’t seem to care anyway.  He looked overly pleased with himself, and it was probably lucky that he decided to listen because I was ready to get up and wipe the damn smile off his face.  He collected himself as gracefully as possible and, without complaint, opened the window he had earlier snuck through.  I didn’t care if he wanted to take the fire escape home—I was just glad to see the back of him.  But he paused just outside and leaned down to look back at me with an impish sort of grin.

    “Good night, Shizu-chan!”

    The worst thing was that I could hear his laughter echoing the entire way down.


	3. III

     The next day did not leave me feeling any better.  I thought a decent amount of sleep might help me forgive and forget, but as I passed by the mailboxes on my way out I felt my temper flare once more.  Izaya’s printed name seemed to mock me, and for a second I was sorely tempted to just rip the card out and tear it up, but I knew it wouldn’t do any good.  At best Izaya would laugh and replace it, and I didn’t need him to know I was still bearing him a grudge.  Besides, it had only been one day.  I told myself things would get better.

     They didn’t.  As the week wore on, I began to feel a certain resentment toward my downstairs neighbor.  My bell had stopped ringing early in the mornings, and I could only figure that he had either decided to use his own key (or got himself a new one; the jury was still out on that) or went back to bothering Namie-san.  The latter seemed less likely, considering the lack of house-wide arguments.  It was my fault that Izaya had stopped ringing, and I should have been relieved that he’d become a little more responsible.  Instead I felt neglected and lonely.  Izaya had blown into my life like an unforeseen whirlwind, and the damage he had left in his wake had been the change I didn’t know I’d ever needed.

    By Wednesday he was all I could think about.  Would he be up all night in order to catch the early train to Fuchū or would he forget and fall asleep?  I didn’t know what would happen if he missed his weekly appointment, and honestly I shouldn’t have even cared, but I couldn’t stop myself from intervening.  That evening I slipped down to the mailboxes and left a small note for him.   _ Tomorrow’s Thursday _ . If he didn’t get it, then it wasn’t my fault, and I was damn sure that it wasn’t my problem.

    But the next morning a note was waiting for  _ me _ .  It was kind of strange, but I was glad neither of us had exchanged mobile numbers; I hated those damn things and text messages were too hard for me to reply to.  A simple, hand-written note felt much better—or it usually did.  Izaya’s note, while written  _ well _ looked as though it had been penned by a high-school girl.  There was a definite neatness to it, as though he was very careful with his writing, and that lead me to believe the overly feminine style had been intentional.  It pissed me off.

_ Shizu-chan is a lifesaver!  Thank you for reminding me.  How about coming by tonight for a little get together?  6-ish?  I’ll be waiting~♥ _

    Even his fucking notes were cute.

    When six o’clock rolled around I was annoyed to find myself ready to go.  I hadn’t even officially planned to drop in, but somehow I was already showered, dressed and at my door.  It took enormous effort to just step back and get a good look at myself.  Why did I have to look so desperate?  I hadn’t forgiven Izaya, but I also couldn’t deny that being noticed by him felt good.  It was enough for me to push our differences aside, but I had to at least make the attempt to seem only  _ mildly  _ interested.

    Fifteen minutes passed and I let myself head downstairs, but as I reached Izaya’s door I realized quickly enough I wasn’t the only person who had been invited.  Muffled music echoed eerily throughout the stairwell, and the sound of muted laughter and elevated voices very nearly had me hurrying back upstairs.  If I had known it was going to be a full-blown party I never would have bothered.  A ‘little get together’ my ass.  It wasn’t my kind of scene, and I had the feeling Izaya knew that.

    I hesitated another five minutes just to make sure it was what I wanted to do and lit a cigarette while I waited.  There weren’t any explicit signs, but I was pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to go smoking on the stairs.  I really didn’t care.  If Izaya could infuriate the whole house on a daily basis, I could have a public smoke once in a while.  

    When the five minutes was up, I took a deep breath and knocked on the door, half hoping it wouldn’t be heard over the din inside.  To my surprise it wasn’t Izaya who answered the door, but someone I didn’t recognize in the slightest.  The man didn’t even bother to ask why I was there; instead he just abandoned his post and mixed into the multitude of obnoxious party-goers once again.  I was left to decide whether or not I should enter, or pretend I suddenly had more pressing engagements.

    “Shizu-chan!”

    I’d been spotted.  Izaya practically materialized from the crowd of strangers to grab me by the arm, pulling me along to a slightly less congested corner of the room.  Surprisingly enough it wasn’t that difficult to find somewhere to stand; from what I could tell, Izaya didn’t have a lot in his apartment.  What he did have looked very modern and sleek, but also strangely spartan for someone so energetic and lively.  I’m not sure what I had expected his place to look like, but I had figured it would be warm and personal.  Instead it looked like he was halfway in the process of moving out.

    My surprise didn’t last long.  I couldn’t focus on the room when Izaya was smiling at me, and it made my heart start to pound just a little faster.  Was I nervous because I had been singled out, or annoyed that I wasn’t the only one there?  I wasn’t sure which was worse, and as a result I couldn’t think of anything to say, which turned out to hardly be a problem.  Izaya liked talking so much I didn’t even need to participate in a conversation.  

    “I guess I can’t be disappointed that you’re late,” Izaya said.  “It’s my fault for not giving you a specific time.  But I knew you’d show up!  And you look so  _ nice _ ; did you dress up just for me?”

    A familiar sense of indignation sparked to life, burning away whatever nonsense I had felt only moments before.  Try as I might I couldn’t seem to have a proper discussion with him, and I was starting to regret ever showing up.  At least I was comforted by the fact that a large party would make escaping that much easier.

    “What’s wrong with how I’m dressed?  It’s just the kinda stuff I usually wear.”

   Izaya cocked his head to one side, his eyes traveling up and down my body as though he were trying to judge my outfit.  I didn’t like it.  “No, no—you’re definitely more dressed up than usual.  Normally you’re just kind of a  _ mess _ with decent clothes, but this time you’re actually smoothed out.  And you wore a jacket!”

    “S’cold out,” I mumbled, feeling suddenly sheepish.  Why did he do this to me?  “I didn’t know if you wanted to stay in or go out, so I brought it with me.  Guess I shouldn’t have bothered.”

   He could tell I was irritated, but if he had anything to say on the matter I wouldn’t get the chance to hear it.  A heavy weight suddenly landed on my shoulder, nearly knocking me forward more out of surprise than anything else.  I reached back to pull the offender off of me, figuring it was just some drunk who was having a little too much fun, but surprisingly my fingers meeting with soft, silky fur rather than anything human.  The damn cat must have jumped onto me from the bookshelf.

    “Oh, I don’t think the cat likes your style, though.  Is that what you’re trying to say?  Shizu-chan tried you know, I don’t think you should be so picky.  Or maybe you’re trying to help!”

    To my horror he stepped closer, not to take the cat away but to instead straighten out my collar.  Once again I watched that thoughtful tongue poke out and it was all I could do not to push him away and just take off.  I wanted nothing more than to run back home and pretend the entire night hadn’t happened, and it was just luck that Izaya hadn’t seemed to notice my shaky condition.  If he had, he damn sure would have brought it up.

    “You know he’s a  _ very _ clever cat.”  Was he talking again?  Oh, good; cats were a safe topic.  I didn’t really care for them myself, but they weren’t so bad when they behaved.  “He followed me home one day.  Can you believe he managed to keep up with me even when I tried to outrun him?  Of course cats are quick, so I didn’t expect to win outright, but I did try to confuse him.  I decided to let him say since he was so insistent, but he knows he’s free to go any time he wants.  He doesn’t belong to me, but I think that’s what keeps him here.  We’re the same, this cat and I—we’re independent, and neither of us belong to anyone else.  I couldn’t even think to give him a name, or at least I couldn’t until I’ve found somewhere I feel I can truly fit in.  I’ve been looking for a long time now.  Haven’t found it yet.”

    He was being open with me again, and since the party around us was so loud it felt like we had been removed from it all: we had our own little world, just for us.  It felt nice, but perhaps I was the only one who felt like that given the fact that Izaya didn’t pause for long.  He reached up to pull the purring animal from my shoulders, and kept on talking as though his honesty wasn’t embarrassing in the slightest.

    “Sometimes I just get overwhelmed with it all, you know?”  He laughed at my expression and waved a dismissive hand, signalling for me to lighten up.  In his other hand he held the black cat like some bizarre sort of accessory.  “When that happens I’ll just wander around the city late at night and let the lights wash over me.  It’s calming being out there late at night where no one knows your name.  I can get lost in the crowds, watch others walk by and try to figure out what sort of people they are.  There’s always something exciting happening, too.  If I could find a real place that made me feel like that, where I felt like I could comfortably belong, I’d probably decide to stay there and give the cat a name.”

    So that was it?  The reason for the  _ Traveling _ on his business card, and the parties and strange groups of people?  Was he really just a lonely man looking for his place in the world, or was he pulling my leg again?  The way he smiled I could never tell, and I couldn’t exactly count on his story to be strictly true.  The things he had told me that night in my room were just a little too crazy, and I wondered if he didn’t try and build himself up into this intriguing person just for the fun of it.  He was an enigma, all right; a mystery I doubted I’d ever be able to solve.

    “Now come here, Shizu-chan; there’s some people you should meet.”

    We didn’t make it far; a sudden intrusion stopped Izaya dead in his tracks.  Two men had appeared at the door, and while the taller one seemed somewhat dignified, the other had the look of someone who had tried to match his partner and spectacularly failed.  His dark hair was on the messy side, and his clothes were better suited to a comfortable night on the couch than a trip out of the house, let alone a party.  His entire demeanor suggested a homebody, and I half wondered if he’d gotten the address wrong and meant to show up somewhere else.  Izaya on the other hand looked nothing short of furious.

    “Orihara, h-how could you throw such a h-huge p-p-party and not tell me?  D-Did you think I wouldn’t f-f-find out?”

    “Why are  _ you  _ here?” Izaya spat.  “You weren’t invited!”  There was no attempt to gracefully accommodate the uninvited guests; there was obviously some sort of bad blood between them, and neither one seemed to care about making such knowledge public.

    “I know everything th-that happens in this city, and s-since you went through so much  _ t-trouble  _ to plan this, I decided to drop by and m-m-make sure you weren’t alone.”

    Scowling, Izaya took one step closer to me and I had the distinct impression that he was non-verbally staking his claim.  The messy-haired man seemed to have come to the same conclusion, since he turned his attention to me with an overly friendly sort of smile.

    “I’m T-Tsukumoya Shinichi.  It’s n-nice to meet one of Orihara’s f-f-friends.  I d-didn’t think he had actually any.  I-I’ve known him for  _ years _ , and h-he’s always s-so  _ lonely _ —”

    “ _ Stalked _ , more like.”

     “D-Don’t interrupt me, Orihara; it’s r-r-rude.”

     “You interrupted my party!”

     Tsukumoya pretended not to have heard him.  “Shishizaki here sh-shares my concern, of c-course.  B-But it’s nice to see he has s-someone he can talk to.  I-I mean, other than his cat.”

     It was obvious that even the mention of the unnamed cat struck a nerve because when Tsukumoya reached out to pet him Izaya pulled the animal away.  I didn’t know if he was suddenly protective, or just being contrary, but it only served to back up my ideas of the man was an overgrown child.  Tsukumoya seemed to find it curiously endearing and laughed.

    “I-I wasn’t planning on s-stealing him.  E-Either of them, r-really, b-b-but I wouldn’t mind getting to know your f-friend a little b-b-better.  Orihara, why don’t you g-go get us all something to d-d-drink?”

    From the expression on his face it as clear that Izaya had absolutely no intention of listening to anything the man said.  I was honestly expecting him to throw a tantrum, but the taller man—Shishizaki, I had gathered—stepped in to try and defuse the ticking time bomb.  I didn’t know if I was grateful or disappointed.

    “I’ll go with you, Orihara-kun.  You seem to uh...have your hands full.  Literally.”

   The atmosphere remained tense, but Izaya seemed to settle down—if only just a bit.  He didn’t seem to think any more highly of Shishizaki; in fact, it seemed to take an enormous effort not to snap at him as well.  But there was something different about the way Izaya looked at Shishizaki that I didn’t like, and I liked it even less when the two of them disappeared into the crowd in search of refreshments.  

    Meanwhile it seemed as though I’d been stuck with another chatty one.

    “So?”

    I looked down at him, frowning in confusion.  “Sorry?”

    “Wh-what do you think of h-him?  Orihara.”

    Realization dawned on me: he didn’t want to talk to me.  He wanted me to talk to  _ him. _ I wasn’t sure how I was meant to reply or if honesty was the best policy.  I sensed a definite rivalry, but it was still unclear whether or not it was one-sided.  Izaya had been fairly hostile, but the same couldn’t be said in reverse.  Did Tsukumoya genuinely care about Izaya, or was he just trying to get a read on me?

    “He’s all right,” I answered.  And then, feeling as though I’d said the wrong thing, I added, “He’s interesting.”

    “Y-You think he’s interesting?”

    I couldn’t stop myself.  “His stories are.”

    Tsukumoya laughed; a real, amused sort of laugh and I felt embarrassed once again.  Heading back to my small, shitty apartment had never sounded better, but I know if Izaya came back and saw I had been chased off the resulting drama would keep me up later than any party.  Besides, if Tsukumoya knew Izaya so well he might be able to straighten things out for me.

    “Did I say something wrong?”

    “N-No, it’s just th-that you’re  _ right _ ; his  _ stories  _ are i-interesting.  And p-probably mostly true, b-b-but dear Orihara has a h-habit of embellishing things.”

    “And just how d’you know him anyway?  He said you stalked him.”

    Another laugh, only it didn’t make me feel ashamed.  There was something different about it, something I decidedly didn’t like, but I couldn’t tell if I was mad or  _ I  _ was the one being stupidly protective.  A guy like Izaya probably had many admirers.  And many enemies to boot.

    “J-Just because I wanted to t-t-talk to him he thinks I’m a s-stalker.  I m-met him when he was s-still a teenager, b-but I was already t-twenty.  H-He was curious, sh-showing off for the wrong p-p-people, and liable to get himself in t-trouble.  I o-offered to take him under m-my w-w-w-ing, but he took offense.  He’s so r-ridiculous it’s just too much f-fun not to watch him.”

_ Watch _ .  Not watch  _ over _ , but just watch.  The idea left a bad taste in my mouth and I took a glance around the room to see if Izaya and Shishizaki were on their way back.  When I had arrived I hadn’t considered drinking, but if I was going to make it through the party I was going to have to start.

    “You sound like you don’t really like him.  It’s not nice to make fun of someone like that.”  A hard edge had slipped into my voice, and I made no effort to chase it out.

    But Tsukumoya didn’t seem to be daunted.  “H-He really brings it on himself, and I-I’m not trying to be m-mean to him, but he h-has no d-d-direction.  I k-keep finding out that he’s m-m-moved, b-but doesn’t l-let himself get t-t-too far away from Tokyo.  E-Every time he’s tried he j-just ends up coming back in a couple of w-w-eeks.  D-Doesn’t know what he wants.  For someone so smart he is incredibly s-stupid.”

   At that moment Izaya returned, pouting mildly.  I took the reaction as a sign that his alone time with Shishizaki hadn’t gone any better than it had with Tsukumoya.  They were each carrying two glasses apiece, and when Izaya offered one to me I didn’t hesitate to drink it.  The bitter liquid nearly gagged me, but I polished it off in a couple of swallows regardless.  Something to take the edge off, nothing more—I just needed it to work quickly.  

    By some miracle Tsukumoya turned away from me and said something quiet to Shishizaki, which Izaya took as his cue to spirit me away to some different corner of the room.  I was grateful.

    “What did he tell you?” Izaya asked.  With his narrowed eyes fixated on me I felt uncomfortable, like a mouse caught in the gaze of a hungry cat.

    “Nothing.  At least not anything important.  Look, I didn’t come here to be some middleman, if you’ve got a problem—”

    “Can you  _ believe  _ who he brought with him?”

    “Huh?”

    “That’s Shishizaki Hajime; of all people to hang all over.  Isn’t it disgusting?”

    “Who the hell is Shishizaki Hajime?”

    “You’re a writer, Shizu-chan; doesn’t that mean you’re also capable of  _ reading _ ?”  Izaya let out a small huff, and continued on before I could come back with something cutting.  “I didn’t realize he was back in town.  He’s nearly as annoying as Tsukumoya, but just a bit less  _ boring _ .  A few years ago he left to work in America and his business skyrocketed.  He became rich practically overnight, and I don’t just mean he’s got money.  He’s one of the Western Hemisphere’s  _ richest  _ people under forty.”

    “That’s good information to have.”

    “I keep track of these kinds of things.”

    No wonder he hadn’t been too disappointed to go fetch drinks with him.  It was no secret that Izaya was no billionaire; was money something that he was attracted to?  For some reason he didn’t strike me as the type, but I had learned a few important things about him already.  Money would definitely make it easier for him to travel.

    The party carried on well into the night and felt as though it would never end.  After my first drink I decided to play it safe and keep away from the stuff; I was an angry drunk, and I already had enough problems with my temper.  The last thing I needed to do was have too much to drink and end up socking someone.  Izaya seemed to be wary as well, or maybe I had just lost track of him too many times.  Every time I caught sight of him he was sipping from the same glass, which was apparently bottomless.

    More than once I excused myself for a cigarette, retreating into the hall for a little peace and quiet.  And more than once Izaya had come to retrieve me and make sure I didn’t bail on him.  The routine started to get under my skin before long, seeing as how Izaya never  _ stayed  _ with me.  Every time he dragged me back in he would slip right through my fingers, off to share an interesting story with a group of men and women, or ready to refill someone’s drink who was stumbling too badly to make it to the kitchenette.  I was feeling neglected again, and spent a decent chunk of the time talking to the black cat. 

   During one of my trips into the hall I heard Namie-san begin to shout.  My heart leapt into my throat and I stupidly stubbed out my cigarette on the railing, but it wasn’t the smoke that had irked her.  Naturally it was the loud, obnoxious party, the likes of which was pushing her over the edge.  She threatened to call the police, and I knew that was the last thing Izaya would want.

    Shishizaki passed by me on my way back in, but I didn’t stop to ask where he was going or why he seemed so urgent.  He wasn’t the first to have left; the party was already breaking up.  When I got back inside I realized immediately that the people remaining had fallen strangely quiet.  They were all huddled together and in the middle of everything stood  Izaya and Tsukumoya like two boxers in a ring.  I pushed a couple of people aside to move in, drawing close enough to see Izaya looking frustrated and Tsukumoya heavily flushed from what I figured to be a combination of alcohol and anger.

    “I don’t ever want to hear those words come out of your mouth again, Orihara,” he warned.  Mysteriously his stutter seemed to have vanished.

    Regret hit me.  If I hadn’t slipped outside I would have heard what went down, but whatever Izaya had said was lost now.  All I knew was that it must have been something really powerful to evoke such a reaction — or it had just managed to perfectly strike a nerve.  There was no sign of victory on Izaya’s face, however; he just looked tired.  Exasperated might have been the better word, actually.  Either way he appeared ready for the party to just come to a graceful end, something Tsukumoya was not about to just let happen.  

    “You’re boring, Tsukumoya.  Stop making a scene and just go home already.  This is beneath you.”

    “Beneath me?  Beneath...me…”

    Squinting, Tsukumoya glanced down at the floor, the alcohol addling his brain to the point where his actions seemed almost toddler-like.  He swayed as he slowly turned himself in a circle, searching for some invisible item lurking just out of his peripheral vision.  When nothing came to him, he slumped to the floor which only further likened him to an oversized, pouting child.  The effect might have been comical at a different time, but no one in the room was laughing.

    “Where is he?  Where’s the cat, Orihara?   _ He  _ had it,” he snapped, waving a jelly-like arm toward me.  “I saw him.  I want the cat...”  

    Izaya sighed.  “Shizu-chan, can you deal with him?  Stuff him in a cab and send him home.  He lives at the Sunroute Plaza.”

    “Orihara try not to be stupid for two mintues.”  The words were slurred, but still held a faint sense of stutter-free irritation.  “I’m not there anymore.  You really are the  _ worst _ .”

    I could see that Izaya had given up, and I wasn’t sure whether or not I should try to send the drunken man home, but Tsukumoya ended up solving my problem for me.  He tried to clamber back to his feet and in the process pitched forward, crashing back to the floor face-first where he remained still.  No one moved to help him.

   If I hadn’t seen that he was still breathing I might have called for an ambulance, but the remainder of the party as a whole seemed to accept his fall as a sign to wrap things up rather than a medical emergency.  As people began to filter out, I moved over to the drunken man, absentmindedly nudging him with the end of my shoe.

    “Oh, just leave him there,” Izaya ordered.  “I’m sure he’s fine.  At least someone put him on the couch for me; I already have one mess to clean up.  I don’t need another one.”

    As nobody else seemed to care enough to lend a hand, I took it upon myself to hoist the unconscious man onto the couch.  There  wasn’t much else I could do for him, but I was thoughtful enough to at least put a pillow under his head before making some quick excuse to head back home.  Guilt ate away at me, and I really did hate to leave when Izaya was in such a mood, but it was  _ because  _ of that mood that I knew I couldn’t stay.  I told myself I’d check on him in a day or so, and focused the rest of my energy on just getting myself into bed.


	4. IV

    When I woke up the next morning I found myself wondering whether or not the party had wrapped up without further incident.  Since Namie-san hadn’t been yelling all night, and since no one broke out in a fight in the stairwell I took that as a sign that things had gone well. Still, I had the thought that I should probably do the nice thing and at least check in.  The problem was that I had yet to exchange numbers with Izaya and personally going to his door felt a little too...intimate.  In the end I told myself I’d just have to ask him the next time we ran into each other.

    As it turned out I didn’t have long to wait.  That afternoon I happened to meet him on the stairs, but he was in such a hurry I barely had time to get a word in.  Izaya at least seemed to read my facial expression in passing, because on his way up he waved a small paper bag at me to signal where he had been.  I couldn’t read the text on it, but I recognized it easily enough: it was from the pharmacy just around the corner.  

    “Because treating a hangover wasn’t bad enough _he’s_ still lying on my couch, dramatically claiming to be on death’s door and coughing up a storm for all of Japan to hear.  Honestly, I’m amazed Namie-san hasn’t come down to complain, but considering it’s the middle of the day perhaps she’s just biding her time.  I wonder who’s more annoying?”

    His rushed entrance and subsequent departure left me standing on the stairs in a confused haze and it took me an embarrassingly long amount of time to realize he was talking about Tsukumoya.  Apparently the man had never gotten home the previous night, and considering that he seemed incredibly unwell it was probably for the best.  The surprising thing was that Izaya was begrudgingly taking care of him rather than throwing him out on the street and I couldn’t help but feel suspicious.  

    Things became even more mysterious over the weekend.  The first strange thing that happened was that the stunningly wealthy man from the party couldn’t even remember which apartment Izaya had lived in.  He showed up at my door one morning asking for Tsukumoya, and I had to tell him he’d gone up one too many floors.  I would have been more annoyed if he hadn’t been so apologetic, and he even laughed and made a joke about how difficult it was to find the right door in a house with four whole apartments.  There was something attractive about a guy like that, and I didn’t just mean his physical appearance.  For someone looking for more than just wealth, Shishizaki was the complete package, and I could understand why Izaya had been significantly less hostile with him than Tsukumoya.

    The second thing concerned Shishizaki yet again.  That afternoon I noticed him arrive by taxi with so many cardboard boxes that he had to be helped upstairs by the driver.  Had I been a more decent guy I probably would have offered to lend a hand, but it didn’t concern me—and I wanted to keep it that way.  For a second I thought he must have been moving in, but I soon watched him leave again and never saw him return.  I told myself he had only been delivering something, since a guy that rich wouldn’t be hauling his own belongings in flimsy cardboard boxes.  Besides; didn’t he have a home in the States to jet off to?

    By the next day everything started to clear up.

    Sunday dawned warm and clear.  It was the type of autumn day that made you wonder if winter hadn’t been delayed, and the city felt somehow colorful and inviting because of it.  Since the weather was so accommodating I had my window open, and before long I heard voices coming from below.  Curiosity got the best of me, and when I decided to sneak a peek I noticed both Izaya and Tsukumoya sitting out on the fire escape with the cat between them.  Neither one looked at the other; Tsukumoya was fixated on the screen of a small laptop resting on his knees, and Izaya was busy teasing the unnamed cat with a sparkly toy mouse.  Though their attention seemed divided, they managed to hold a conversation without any difficulty whatsoever.

    “W-Well if you didn’t have s-so many ridiculous coats I-I would have more room for _m-m-my_ things.  Y-You really can’t keep b-blaming me for the mess.  I don’t even have th-that much.”

    “I’m surprised.  Shishizaki doesn’t buy you things?  I thought you’d want to look pretty for him.”

   “A-Are you really going to start in w-with that now?  I’ve already warned you to w-watch your mouth.”

   “Ooh, scary!  You’re really very tough for a shut-in who spends most of his time online.  If you pass out again in your attempt to put me in my place please make sure you’re standing by the railing.  It’ll make everything much easier.”

    “I-I didn’t say you had to keep _quiet_ ; just watch what you s-say.  Y-You’re not as invulnerable a-as you might think.”

    “Tsukumoya, are you trying to tell me that you’re planning to call in a yakuza hit on me?  Or maybe you’d rather have Shishizaki come up here and break my legs himself?  I didn’t realize you two were into that sort of thing.”

    Even from a floor above them I could see the color slowly rising in Tsukumoya’s face.  Something had become suddenly very interesting to him on his computer screen, and rather than answer he just leaned forward to focus on it.  Izaya on the other hand found it amusing and started laughing.  It wasn’t a malicious laugh, and I didn’t think he was trying to be mean at all; there was something oddly genuine about it.

    “Look, I don’t know why you don’t want to talk about it.  I’m not as stupid as you think I am, you know.  You and Shishizaki have something going on, and you don’t have to be embarrassed or overly protective of that.  Unless... _is_ it something to be embarrassed about?”

    “Wh-what are you getting at, Orihara?”

   Izaya shrugged lightly.  “Oh, I don’t know.  You get upset when I say too much so I don’t see how you two could be happily in love or anything like that.  For someone to get so defensive there must be something wrong.  What’s he like in bed?”

   “ _Orihara_.”

   “That bad?”

   “N-n-no...h-he...th-that’s not s-s-something I’m g-going to talk a-about with y-y-you.”

   “Your stutter’s getting worse.”

   “Sh-shut up.”

   Once again Izaya laughed, and I had the sense that he was trying to have a real conversation with Tsukumoya.  I couldn’t say he was trying to be helpful, but he wasn’t being unnecessarily mean, either.  He seemed _interested_.

   “Don’t be such a prude, Tsukumoya; no one likes that.  Unless you’re both just so boring you feel ashamed.  But it’s all right to talk about.  I’d tell you if you asked.”

    Tsukumoya was quiet for a little while, his face bypassing bright pink and going straight to deep red.  Once again he was fixated on a spot on his screen, but there was a thoughtfulness to his expression I hadn’t seen before, and despite not wanting to listen in on such a conversation I couldn’t bring myself to move away.

    “Wh-what do you think about us?  D-Do you think it’s something casual?”

    This time it was Izaya who paused to think.  “I don’t think it could be if you react so strongly whenever I bring him up.”

    “D-Do you think he’s g-good-looking?”

    “Why are you asking me?  Tsukumoya, are you having doubts?  Oh, that’s cute!  You’re wondering if you’re in love or just drawn in by his charm!  That’s really so adorable!”

    “If that’s how you’re g-g-going to be, I’ll just keep all of th-this to myself.”

    “Oh don’t be like that.  Am I at least warm?  Or are you worried about what _he_ sees in _you_?  Because I know you both, and I’d say he’s getting the short end of the stick on this deal.  Tall, rich and handsome versus short, annoying and boring.  Those don’t really combine well, do they?”

   “Orihara, just once I’d r-really love for you to stop and l-listen to yourself.  Y-Your stupidity is about to put me to sleep.”

   “Well you’re obviously concerned about _something_.  If you’re not worried about your feelings or boring him to death in bed then what is it?”

   Tsukumoya sighed and closed the lid on his laptop, setting it aside with an annoyed sort of frown.  “It’s not j-just one thing, but you know he’s not going to be a-able to stay here.  He’ll have to go back to America, and then I-I’ll have to m-m-make a decision.  If I s-stay, w-we won’t be able to see each other very o-often.  But if I g-go, then I have to l-leave Tokyo.  N-New York might not be s-so bad, but I-I don’t really want to leave.  I sh-should just c-convince him to stay here somehow.”

    Now Izaya was watching him carefully, ignoring the cat’s attempts to pry the mouse out of his hand.  I didn’t think much of it, since it always seemed as though something was taking place just behind the scenes, but I could tell Izaya was working something out.  I just didn’t care about what it might be.

    “New York doesn’t sound so bad.”

    “Y-You can have it th-then.”

    “Maybe you’re right.  That’s not really such a bad idea…”

                                                  

* * *

 

     When I went to check my mail Monday morning I noticed that Izaya’s card had been updated, and now he and Tsukumoya were _traveling_ together.  I couldn’t help but feel a little bit disgusted by the pair and half-wondered if their rivalry wasn’t something like two children fighting over a toy in a sandbox.  Either way I wasn’t thrilled, but I couldn’t sit around and sulk; my mail was much more interesting than a new addition to Izaya’s apartment.  

    A fairly well-known magazine had sent me a letter to let me know they were planning to publish the short story I had sent in, and for a brief moment everything around me seemed to melt away.  At first I just felt numb and forced myself to reread the letter about a dozen times.  I couldn’t even be bothered to care that they couldn’t pay me for it.  When it finally sunk in that my hard work was actually going to be _printed_ I felt elated, and I knew I couldn’t keep the news to myself.  I _had_ to tell someone or I was going to explode.

    My first thought should have been to call my brother, or even to rush down to Tom-san’s bar, but it was Izaya’s name that popped into my head.  I’d like to say I thought of him because he was the one who lived closest to me, but I was halfway up the stairs before that fact had even occurred to me.  

    It was still fairly early, around eleven or so, and I fully expected Izaya to be home.  Without thinking that I might be interrupting something, I pounded a fist against the door insistently.  The sound must have been something impressive, because Izaya hurriedly answered the door with a surprised look—a look that quickly faded into mild irritation.  But all too soon he was smiling again, acting as though I hadn’t startled him in the slightest.

    Words failed me, so instead of fumbling through a mess of an explanation I shoved the letter into Izaya’s hands with enough force that I nearly knocked him down.  I was like an excited puppy and I couldn’t contain my happiness.  Watching Izaya read the letter was agonizing, and it was all I could do to stand there patiently and wait.  But when he finally handed it back his expression didn’t even come close to matching mine.

    “Isn’t that stealing if they can’t pay you?  So what if your name’s on it; even the newspapers pay their writers.  I’d tell them ‘No thank you, I’ll find someone who actually appreciates me.’  But then again I _did_ read your writing, so I can’t blame them, either.”

    For a moment I thought he had to be joking.  My excitement deflated and I was left standing there waiting for a punchline that would never come.  How could he be serious?  How could he look at my face and tell me something like that?  When no self-amused laughter followed, I tore the paper out of his hands and shoved it into my pocket with all the restraint I could muster.  Punching him was out of the question, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to.  I also didn’t know why I kept giving Izaya my time, since all he ever did was bother me and piss me off.  If he couldn’t even be happy for me then I didn’t need him.

    Maybe he picked up on why I had switched moods so quickly, because he put a hand on my arm to keep me from my inevitable retreat.  “Oh, but if Shizu-chan is happy then of course I’m happy too!  Why don’t you come in and we can celebrate?  Or better yet we can go out!  I’ll take you to lunch, if you want.  Or you can take me, I’d be fine with that too.  Just let me get changed.”

    The offer did little to uplift my spirits, but I agreed and followed him inside.  I told myself I’d be better off cutting Izaya out right now, but every time I got angry with him the little bastard had a way of working his way right back into my heart.  I hated him for it, but I think I must have hated myself even more.  All I had to do was push him out of my thoughts, and I let myself return to him every time.

    He had captivated me.

    Since the party the atmosphere of the apartment had changed dramatically.  Clothes were scattered, and I knew from the style and various colors that they couldn’t belong to Izaya.  Half unpacked boxes were stacked by the door and the window and curiously I peeked inside the nearest one.  A little, furry black arm shot out instantly at my invasion and I stumbled back in surprise.  I couldn’t be mad, though; Izaya’s unnamed cat had made himself a home, and he was just letting me know I was in his space.  No wonder he had followed Izaya home; they were meant for each other.

   I wanted to make myself at home, but the couch had several things piled on top of it that I felt were better left undisturbed.  Among them was the hoodie I had seen Tsukumoya wearing on the fire escape and his laptop.  Messing around with Izaya’s stuff might have been forgivable, but I didn’t dare touch anything belonging to Tsukumoya.  Somehow he felt more threatening than Izaya did.

    With nowhere comfortable to sit, I decided to remain standing, glancing toward the door to Izaya’s bedroom out of boredom.  I don’t know what I expected to see, but I realized all too quickly that he had left the door open while he changed.  It must have been to talk to me, but it bothered me a little that he wasn’t the slightest bit embarrassed; he was the type of person who would strip in front of me without so much as batting an eyelash.  Feeling warm, I turned away and searched for something in the room that was much more interesting than Izaya’s naked back.

    Surely there had to be _something_.

    “You’ve probably figured out by now that Tsukumoya’s living here?”  

    I jumped at the voice, and it took an inordinate amount of self-control to not turn and look at him.  “Yeah...I figured as much.”

    “Well I guess I don’t mind.  If he wants to stay here it’ll help with the bills, and he was up in some hotel room not that long ago so it’s a boon for him as well.  He _insists_ on moving every so often and I’ll tell you it’s not like what I do.  He isn’t traveling because he’s looking for somewhere to belong, he moves because he thinks it keeps him safer.  Can you believe it?  He thinks he’s fooling some invisible villain that’s been chasing after him because he’s moved a few blocks.  Honestly I think he just likes the drama.  I wouldn’t be surprised if he just pissed off the wrong person in a chatroom and decided his life would be a little more interesting by pretending to lay low.”

    As Izaya talked I couldn’t help but wonder where Tsukumoya actually was.  He didn’t seem like the type of guy who spent a lot of time outside, and the apartment was too small for him to be hanging out somewhere out of sight.  Part of me wanted to ask, but my rational thinking kicked in and I kept my mouth shut.  As it turned out I didn’t need to say anything; Izaya was all too eager to volunteer information.

    “For now it’s not so bad.  Shishizaki keeps him busy most of the time, so I don’t have to deal with him.  They’re together, you know.  I didn’t think it was so serious, but apparently Tsukumoya’s considering going to America with him.  Isn’t that cute?  They can leave me alone and be stupidly annoying somewhere else.  I think everyone wins in that situation.  Except the Americans.  I do feel a little sorry for them.”

    Once he was dressed, Izaya slipped back into the living room and tapped me on the shoulder with a smile.  If my face was still warm Izaya had the grace not to comment on it; I was relieved he didn’t want to provoke me any further.  There was a possibility he did actually feel bad for treating my good news so poorly, but I think the most likely explanation was that he was just trying to keep me from exploding.  That, and he was probably bored and feeling lonely again.  All the talk about Tsukumoya had felt less idle than it sounded, leaving me feeling responsible enough to consider footing the bill for lunch to bring up his mood.  It never occurred to me that we might split the check.

    Still smiling, Izaya reached up and gave my cheek what was surely meant to be an encouraging pat, and nothing patronizing in the least.  “Cheer up, Shizu-chan; I’m proud of you, really.  I’m glad your story was published.  One day you’ll be disgustingly rich and you’ll be able to take me anywhere you want.  Doesn’t that sound exciting?”

     And to be honest it really did.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to itsnotlove for her wonderful inspiration for Tsukumoya, and for letting me write him based on her perfect interpretation <3


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